Water! And there aren’t dinosaurs and bugs in it! All of a sudden, as if the land had read my last blog post, there is water EVERYWHERE, including all over my gear and smacking me in the face from the sky. It’s wet and I’m wet. I’ve had some spectacular moments these last few days, spectacular enough for me to forgive the miles and miles of foot shredding lava fields I’ve had to cross and more rain than sun days I’ve walked through. There was tread paved with obsidian, incredibly beautiful mountains I could behold knowing Oregon loves me too much to make me go over, draped enormous trees, springs bubbling from the ground, birds that sound like Muppets characters… I’ve fallen in love with this place, as I genuinely felt I would the day I crossed the border. It’s not the Sierras. Nothing will be the Sierras. The Sierras are like scenes out of the The Lord of the Rings minus the distracting actors and their testosterone driven quests. Oregon is like scenes from Monty Python’s Holy Grail, with the actors and the quests. The Sierras are too beautiful to be believable. You secretly just know that you are actually sitting on the floor of your living room on high doses of LSD. Oregon is real. It hands you a beer and tells you to sit down for a minute. It’s beautiful and it awes you, but it’s wearing jeans. The Sierras is naked with garnets woven into its hair and looking wordlessly into your soul without a minute’s break. Different beauties and ways of being with it, and I’m in love.

Here are the Washington addresses you can send stuff to if so inclined: